


When The Bouquet Breaks

by Jadzia7667



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Slash, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-12
Updated: 2006-05-12
Packaged: 2018-09-28 02:05:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10065290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadzia7667/pseuds/Jadzia7667
Summary: Severus sees his marriage slipping away and finally decides to do something about it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

Title: When the Bouquet Breaks  
Author: Jadzia7667  
Pairing: Snarry  
Rating: G  
Warnings: Angst, songfic – I know, I said I’d never do one, but…I did.  
Summary: Severus sees his marriage slipping away and decides to do something about it.  
Beta: the_minx_17  
Disclaimer: Not mine - they're hers.

 

_You don't bring me flowers_  
You don't sing me love songs  
You hardly talk to me anymore  
When I come thru the door  
At the end of the day 

_I remember when_  
You couldn't wait to love me  
Used to hate to leave me  
Now after lovin' me late at night  
When it's good for you  
And you're feelin' alright  
Well you just roll over  
And turn out the light  
And you don't bring me flowers anymore 

_It used to be so natural_  
To talk about forever  
But "used to be's" don't count anymore  
They just lay on the floor  
'til we sweep them away 

_And baby, I remember_  
All the things you taught me  
I learned how to laugh  
And I learned how to cry  
Well I learned how to love  
Even learned how to lie  
You'd think I could learn  
How to tell you goodbye  
'cause you don't bring me flowers anymore 

_Neil Diamond and Barbra Streisand – You Don’t Bring Me Flowers_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry doesn’t even raise his head when the door bangs open and Severus glides into their quarters. He pushes the door closed with more force than is strictly necessary, hoping to provoke a reaction from his disinterested spouse. There is no fire crackling in the hearth; Severus thinks that reflects the state of their marriage more aptly than he wants to admit. He points his wand and builds up the fire, wishing it was that easy to rekindle the fire that used to be their need for one another.

Harry continues marking as though his spouse of ten years isn’t even there. He’s stretched out on one end of the sofa and looks indecently sexy even buttoned up in his teaching robes as he is. He hasn’t even taken off his boots. Severus remembers when Harry waited by the door, a happy smile lighting his features every time Severus returned. He hasn’t seen that smile in months. Severus remembers when Harry’s smile was followed by a kiss. They haven’t kissed in months, unless you count the dry and dutiful touch of lips when they both hurry off to classes after breakfast. Severus doesn’t.

There are vases, dusty and void, scattered on forgotten tables in various corners of their rooms. They’re not filled with orchids or asters or any of the other blooms Harry used to collect and present to Severus. Bleakly, he tries to remember how long it’s been since any of the vases were full. Severus used to use most of them in potions, but he always carefully preserved one of each bouquet as a remembrance. Neither of them was particularly skilled at expressing their emotions, but Severus always thought they were all right, as long as the bouquets were presented and acknowledged.

Severus thinks that once upon a time, they’d have been naked and in bed by now. He’s been home for nearly half an hour. Harry hasn’t said a word or so much as twitched an eyelash at Severus. He’s never felt invisible like this before. He loathes this helpless feeling of inadequacy.

Their rooms are unnaturally quiet, the pall broken only by the scratching of Harry’s quill and Severus’ own ragged breaths. No music drifts through the air from the wireless. It too, has been forgotten. Once upon a time, the wireless was always on, and Harry hummed along more often than not. That was when the silence was companionable instead of a yawning gulf between them.

He remembers when Harry popped into his office between classes, just to steal a kiss or stroke a loving caress down his cheek. He remembers when Harry was reluctant to leave their bed each morning. He can’t remember the last time Harry spent the entire night curled up next to him. Severus knows that if he initiates the contact, they’ll have brief, perfunctory sex tonight. No words will be exchanged. Harry will finish them both off efficiently, then roll over and douse the lights, falling asleep instantly. There will be no post coital kisses, no drowsy conversation, no cuddling. No love.

Severus thinks the stark truth - that this is the crux of whatever problem they’re having. There is no love in Harry’s eyes anymore. No love gilds his posture. No love permeates the stilted conversations they have as little as possible. Severus has no idea what happened to leach away the love that was once so overpowering. He hasn’t the vaguest notion of how to get it back or when it left. He knows it hasn’t left his heart and he wonders when Harry’s heart shriveled and why he didn’t notice until it was too late.

Severus thinks about the contented hours of conversation they used to have, discussing their hopes for the future. Those hopes are ashes in his mouth now. They litter the chasm between them, like so many discarded scraps of parchment furled up at the edges, devoid of any meaning. He refuses to contemplate the fact that good bye is in his immediate future.

Severus sits in the armchair across from his husband and covertly observes him. There is no expression on his face, no joy in his eyes. His once luscious lips are thinned now, frowning in concentration. Severus notes the lines on Harry’s face – deep groves running from nose to mouth, furrows across his forehead. There are no laughter lines beside his eyes. There are too many lines for a man of barely thirty. Severus remembers when Harry taught him to laugh, and that it was all right to cry. He remembers when he realized he’d learned to love this man who still means everything to him. 

Finally, the scratching of the quill ceases and Harry looks up to murmur, “Good evening, Severus.”

Severus tastes the lie in his throat and on his tongue, sickly sour and unutterably bitter. “Yes it is, Harry. Will you be dining here?”

Harry nods brusquely, not deigning to illustrate his acceptance. He rises and crosses the room to his desk, putting his marking aside. He stretches and Severus wants nothing more than to go to him, embrace him and bridge the canyon of silence between them. He doesn’t know how; instead, he snaps his fingers to order dinner for two from the house elves.

They eat in silence, as is usual for them these days. When the empty dishes disappear, Harry stands. Unsmiling, he strides to the fireplace, reaching for the jar of Floo powder they keep on the mantle. Before he speaks his destination, he turns, sparing Severus an indifferent glance. “Don’t wait up,” he says. Then he is gone and Severus is left alone again with his thoughts and memories. He wonders how long he can endure the travesty their life together has become.

Heaving a heavy sigh, he completes his own marking quickly, then finds his glance caught by an empty vase at the edge of his desk. He remembers how brightly their relationship once shone, and how clear and clean the vases once were. He points his wand, removing the dust from all the vases in the room. After a moment’s deliberation, he dons his cloak and heads to the greenhouses. Perhaps if he fills the vases, Harry will notice. Perhaps Harry will carefully preserve a bloom from each bouquet. Perhaps Harry will look at him again instead of through him.

When he returns, arms full of asters and orchids, columbine and hyacinth, carnations and baby’s breath, he lays them carefully on his desk. He turns on the wireless and tunes it to a late night station. Romantic music pours out into the lonely room. Severus begins to arrange the flowers in the vases. After awhile, he realizes he is humming along with the wireless. When he goes to bed, hours later, he doesn’t turn it off. Perhaps Harry will notice the music when he returns. He doesn’t dare to hope that Harry will notice the vases right away. 

When Severus wakes up the next morning, he is alone. He’s used to that. He tells himself it doesn’t trouble him overmuch. Harry has been there. The dented pillow and disheveled sheets tell him so, as if he wasn’t surrounded by the scent of his husband. Severus inhales deeply, holding that mixture of aromas close. He pads into the sitting room; the wireless is still playing. He blinks and peers at the vases, not expecting anything.

From each vase, one blossom is gone. Beneath the sugar bowl, there is a note, in Harry’s careless scrawl. It is terse, as Severus has come to expect from Harry. Nonetheless, Severus smiles for the first time in months, feeling the melancholy lift from his soul.

_Lunch in our rooms?_

~fin~


End file.
